I See a Darkness
by ToTheBlueberry
Summary: Castiel is dead. The Winchesters know this: they buried his body. So how do they both keep seeing him?
1. I See a Darkness

**Welcome to my first sort-of fix-it fic (sort of because it's still very depressing)**

 **Inspiration from Johnny Cash's "I See a Darkness" and "Missed the Boat" by Modest Mouse.**

* * *

Cas stormed past him, dropping his angel blade into his hand. Dean stiffened before promptly making up his mind to haul him back. The fight was over. They could still walk away from this.

"Cas!"

Cas ignored him. Dean felt hands on his arm, tugging him back. He struggled furiously in Sam's grip, even when Sam put himself between Cas and Dean like a human barrier.

"No, Dean-" Dean's fingers fisted into the shoulder of Sam's flannel as he tried to shove him off. But Sam was bigger and stronger, and Dean was already injured as it was. He could only let himself be dragged back to the portal.

"Get offa me," he wrested in Sam's grip, but Sam's only acknowledgment of his struggles was to tighten his grip. He watched in horror over Sam's shoulder as Cas approached Lucifer. He barely saw Cas stab him, and the devil doubled over, clutching Cas' blade arm. Even from their distance, Dean could see the devil's eyes glowing with red hellfire as he looked up at Cas with something akin to shock.

Then Sam pushed him into the portal. They both stumbled through, and barren dust was replaced with grass.

Dean whipped around, staring at the portal. Cas was coming back. He had to come back.

And he did. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Cas reappeared through the portal. He could hear the smile in Sam's voice.

"Cas-" Sam laughed, a short huff of amazement- Cas was okay. They could figure this out, together.

But no, they couldn't. It was simple Murphy's Law- whatever can go wrong will go wrong.

Cas died thinking that the Winchesters didn't trust him. That they hated him.

And now they would never be able to tell him otherwise.

Then Mary- their mom, the only blood family they had left to desperately cling to, the one both brothers agreed would have to be pried from their cold dead fingers before they let her go- she-

She was gone. The devil ripped her away. The portal closed.

Sam watched as Dean slowly fell to his knees next to Cas. Gold light was throwing itself across Dean's face, casting the ground in a glow, accentuating his brother's sharp features. The house was glowing. Sam turned in time to see the light on the windows grow brighter, becoming a supernova, searing shapes into Sam's eyes that danced under his closed eyelids.

He was reluctant to leave his brother alone right now. But he was the only one of the two that was together enough to be functioning. He cast one last reluctant glance at his brother before sprinting towards the house.

Kelly. He supposed a part of him hoped that he was alive, but even as he ran upstairs for the room he knew that it was a ridiculous notion.

Kelly was laying on the bed, hands folded neatly on her lap. Sam could almost trick himself into thinking she was alive if not for the complete stillness of the blankets, her unblinking eyes.

He cast a furtive glance around the room. The nephilim was gone.

Sam stood over Kelly's bedside, closing her eyes.

She was innocent. Just another victim screwed over by Fate's humor.

He continued his search. The nephilim was somewhere in the house. A ticking bomb with a timer that no one could control.

He ran into the next room, casting a quick glance around. It was dark, a stark contrast to the glow from only a moment before. He didn't see anything at first glance. He stepped further inside, craning around to see behind the furniture.

There was a dark mass in the corner. It had eyes. It shifted, and Sam could more clearly see his features as they caught the light. No older than a teen.

His eyes widened. He gasped slightly, taking a step back.

The nephilim.

* * *

Dean knew he should be doing something, should be looking for something, or someone, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He couldn't feel Sam's presence behind him anymore.

He should move. But his legs weren't working, and every breath he took was a stabbing nuisance. Lucifer had broken a few of his ribs, he supposed.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

* * *

The nephilim disappeared with an evil smirk, and for a horrifying moment Sam could see the devil in its was a sucking sound, like air being displaced, and he found himself staring at the wall.. Sam stared at the empty space, waiting for it to reappear- but it- Jack- was gone. Sam's brain stuttered to a halt.

He stood there, dumbstruck. This- all of it- was for nothing. All that they'd lost, all that they'd sacrificed- there was no point.

Sam needed to pull himself together. There were things that still needed to be done, and Dean was in no state of mind or body to be doing them.

When Sam went back outside, Dean was still kneeling next to Cas. He hadn't moved. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breath coming in shallow gasps, ribs grinding with every move he made.

Sam went behind him, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder before crouching down next to him. His stomach churned when he saw the wing prints on the ground, but he forced himself to keep going. If he stopped now, he didn't think he could ever start again. He needed to get Dean away from here. He was in shock, he was injured.

Dean let himself be hauled up. His legs had fallen asleep from being in that position for so long, and he very nearly collapsed, but Sam caught him, putting a hand to his chest to keep him upright. Dean sagged against him, letting his fumbling feet blindly take him wherever Sam was leading him.

* * *

Cas died on a Thursday.

It was May. Sunny. They'd chosen a nice grassy patch under the weeping willow tree. The upturned earth was warm as two graves were dug by two brothers. Sweat made Sam's shirt cling to his back as he brought the shovel down to the earth.

Dean tried to help. A last gesture, a sign of loyalty to a fallen brother.

But Sam noticed that he was getting tired out more easily than usual. Dean's hands were shaky from nerves and pain, a sheen of sweat appearing on his too-pale skin. Every time he brought the shovel down, his broken ribs threatened to puncture a lung. But if Dean noticed, he couldn't bring himself to care.

It didn't take long before Sam snatched the shovel from Dean's hands. "I don't need you killing yourself." Sam had said.

Dean didn't argue, which only made Sam that much more worried. Quiet Dean was not good. He made his brother go sit at the base of the willow until he was done.

Halfway through digging Kelly's grave, he looked over to see his brother bent over something with his pocketknife in hand. Good. He was keeping himself busy. Trying to stay distracted.

A few minutes later Dean limped over, and Sam finally saw what he was working on. He had made a rickety little cross out of some nearby tree branches and lashed them together with braided pieces of grass. He wordlessly handed it to Sam, who stuck it in the ground at the head of the graves. The wood was worn and gnarled, cockeyed, almost falling apart. But it was holding itself together better than them.

They weren't holding it together. They had their facades, of course, but even a facade can look like a familiar face to your loved ones. They were both falling apart, a pair of marionette dolls that Fate had played with a bit too harshly. They were broken. Fate had been careless.

It was fitting that the world would come crashing down around Dean's ears so soon after Cas' death.

As it was, the best they could give him was a hunter's burial. Salt and burn the body. Leave nothing but the bones. Nothing to remember either heroes by except a handmade cross, with the letters C.W. and K.K. painstakingly carved into both arms of the cross. The letters were sloppy, simple, scratched in.

Dean helped spread the gasoline and salt after Sam put down the bodies. He could still see the little image of the cross seared into his mind, even when the flames rising up out of the graves obscured his vision. The white bundles were blackening under the fire, soon to be no more than a memory.

It felt- _wrong_ , somehow. Like a betrayal. Cas deserved more than this, he deserved to be alive and breathing, standing here next to them as the world said its goodbyes to Kelly Klein. Standing with them against the world, against all odds. Like he always was.

Like he always had been.

Why they even bothered to salt and burn the body, Dean didn't know. Cas didn't have a soul to come back and haunt them with. Even if he did, he surely wouldn't become a vengeful spirit. He wasn't coming back. The cosmic consequences had found him in the end, after all. He'd paid his price for protecting the Winchesters.

Now they'd repay him, in the only way they could.

* * *

Dean was beginning to wonder if Cas' insane hope in the nephilim, his faith, was all for redemption. He needed to believe that he hadn't broken the world, he needed to believe that the nephilim would save the world when they were too weak. Or maybe it was for a sense of security: when they died, Cas wanted someone to keep the light on.

Dean didn't care about intentions. It hadn't even been born yet and it already killed two people that Dean held closest. He couldn't help but hate the nephilim.

He'd went through Cas' car, trying to find any hints as to where the nephilim might go for safety. He'd found nothing, just the sense that he wasn't alone.

And the books in the glove compartment.

He didn't know why they made him so angry. Just knew that when he picked one up- "What to Expect When You're Expecting"- his teeth were on edge, the ringing in his ears seemed to grow in pitch, and he suddenly had the urge to just throw it out the window along with the bottle of women's vitamin gummies he'd found, towards the spot where his mom disappeared, near where Cas' bony wings were seared into the ground.

Because of course, Cas would be the one to go all den-mom on the child of Lucifer. Because of course, Cas, the angel, would end up being the most human of all of them.

Because of course, Dean realized, as he looked through the rest of Cas' stuff (for clues, he told himself) Cas would be the kind of guy who would take an online Doula class, who would read 74 books about raising kids, who would spend a small fortune to make Kelly's final days as comfortable as possible, who would be the one who promised to protect the "savior" with his last breath, just as he'd done for the two saviors that had been born around 40 years ago.

Because, of course, Cas did protect Jack with his last breath.

That's just who he was.

It'd be easier to move the stars than to change Cas.

* * *

 **Thanks to DarkHeartInTheSky for pointing out the little continuity error in here :)**

 **As always, I live for your reviews- if you have time, don't hesitate to drop a comment. I don't have specific update days set, but I already have 3 chapters written, so I'm too invested to just abandon this.**


	2. Never Really Gone

**Thank you to the people that have taken the time to read, review, and follow this little ficlet. I'm wanting to keep it pretty short: it definitely won't be a full-blown story unless I somehow get a lot of response for it and/or people wanting more. I currently have 4 chapters officially written, but I have two different ways that I'm considering taking this story. I might end up making a branch-off fic with the alternate plotline.**

 **Anyway, without further ado, I bring to you Chapter 2 :)**

* * *

 ** _RECAP:_**

 _Because of course, Dean realized, as he looked through the rest of Cas' stuff (for clues, he told himself) Cas would be the kind of guy who would take an online Doula class, who would read 74 books about raising kids, who would spend a small fortune to make Kelly's final days as comfortable as possible, who would be the one who promised to protect the "savior" with his last breath, just as he'd done for the two saviors that had been born around 40 years ago._

 _Because, of course, Cas did protect Jack with his last breath._

 _That's just who he was._

 _It'd be easier to move the stars than to change Cas._

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2: Never Really Gone**

That house was their new base of operations. It was a unanimous decision, unspoken, as many things between the brothers so often were. The bunker didn't feel safe anymore, not after what happened. Even now Sam would find himself needing to go outside after staying cooped up on his laptop researching all day.

Claustrophobia. It was never something he had to deal with before, but now he found himself appreciating the fresh, clean air carrying the scent of the lake that much more.

"Still nothing?"

Dean slowly shook his head, closing Cas' laptop. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in an actual bed: more often he found himself drifting off at the table while he was researching. He winced, trying to rub the kink out of his neck from being bent over research for so long.

"I think they planned on staying here for a while. He never mentioned any other hideouts."

Sam grunted, not really surprised at the news. He'd assumed as such when he'd seen the closet full of baby toys and supplies in "Jack's" room.

"I'll check and see if Jimmy Novak made any other purchases before-"

"Sam," Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. The shadows under his eyes were beginning to resemble bruises.

Sam continued, ignoring his brother. "There's gotta be something-"

"Sam!" Dean slammed his hand on the table, making him jump. He looked up in surprise, noticing for the first time glaze over Dean's eyes.

"There's nothing. Got that? Nothing."

Sam shook his head, gently closing his own laptop and pushing it away slightly.

"No," he whispered, training his eyes on the wooden whorls on the table, "no." He looked up at Dean's red-rimmed eyes- from alcohol or grief, he couldn't tell. "Cas didn't die for nothing. Mom didn't-"

Dean abruptly stood, sending the chair screeching back against the oak floor. Sam followed his movement with his eyes, leaning forward in his chair.

"We will find something, Dean, we always do-"

"Always was when we had help, Sam. We had dad, or Garth, or Ellen, or Jo, or mom, or Cas-"

Dean spread his arms, letting them drop by his sides.

"We've got nothing, man."

"You're giving up." Sam stated bluntly. There was no accusation in the words. It was just the acknowledgment of truth.

Dean turned towards the door. There was no denying it.

"Yeah, Sam," he opened the door, "I think it's about time you do, too."

* * *

Dean knelt down, putting one hand gingerly on the soft earth. The ash marks had faded for the most part. They'd been difficult to see in the first place.

He used to come out to pray. To Chuck, to Cas, to the other angels, to whatever would listen. Not for anything in particular. No grand acts that would fix everything. He just wanted interference. Acknowledgement. Anything. Anything that proved he wasn't alone, that Cas wasn't really dead, that Lucifer hadn't immediately killed his mom in that other world.

The answer, for two weeks, was always the same. Silence.

Dean still hoped- and it was an insane hope, he knew- that the rip between spacetime would open back up. That he could at least get his mom back. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he'd rather his mom die and be spared the torment of that other world. It'd be a mercy.

Dean looked away, realizing that he'd been staring at the empty air. He didn't want to look down either, didn't want to see the wing marks burned into the ground. He already carried one burn, a feather seared on his shoulder as a permanent reminder.

He stood, looking out towards the lake. He could see now why Cas chose this place. It was geographically safe, of course, well off the beaten path, but there was also a sort of peace that seemed to emanate from it. Maybe it was the forest, the lake, the clear sky, the absence of rush hour traffic. Dean didn't know. But it was peaceful. Safe.

Wind pushed offshore from the lake, pure white noise, ruffling his hair, buffeting the grass. He heard footsteps crunching the earth behind him. Sam stood by his side, staring at the place where both of their worlds had been ripped away, the angel wings that marked where there had once been an entrance to an alternate universe.

"I can't do this alone, Dean," Sam said softly.

Dean's shoulders slumped. He didn't turn to face Sam, not yet, because he knew if he turned around he would see the wing prints.

"Why does this always happen to us? Why are we always the ones to get screwed?"

Sam didn't answer. He didn't know. The world hated them, he guessed, even though they'd saved it countless times. This was their punishment.

Why was the world even worth saving anymore?

* * *

Castiel remembered stepping through the portal, leaving Lucifer kneeling on the dusty barren ground with an angel blade sticking through his gut. He stalked back towards the portal, wanting nothing more than to get out of this sad, doomed little world. A world without two heroes.

This other world was different. More colorful. Hopeful.

He allowed himself to breathe when he was through the portal, when the earth morphed under his feet from crumbling clay to something green, something that had become a distant memory for him- grass. Sam and Dean were waiting on the other side, both with relief etched on their faces when they saw Castiel.

It didn't last very long.

He knew before he even felt it. Their faces told him- something terrible had just happened.

He supposed he had to have felt something, but he couldn't quite remember. It felt- empty. A strange tingling, like he was a phantom and someone was waving their hand inside his chest trying to find his heart. It only lasted two eternal seconds, and then it was over.

Castiel was dead before he hit the ground.

That was the end of it. A millennia of experience, of hopes, dreams, love, friendship, pain, betrayal. Sacrifice. A brother. A fighter. Snuffed out by 20 inches of metal.

* * *

Dean froze, eyes trained on the face hovering behind his shoulder in the mirror. He whipped around, half expecting him to disappear. But he didn't. He was really there.

"Cas!" He lunged forward to hug him, to feel real proof that Cas was here, flesh and blood.

He felt the wall instead.

He turned. Cas was still standing there, looking down at his feet. That was when Dean realized that he normally wasn't able to see right through Cas. If he looked through his peripheral, Cas looked solid. But head-on, Dean could still see his own reflection in the mirror through Cas' chest.

Cas flickered along with the light fixtures in the bathroom. "Dean, I-" He looked up, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, and then he was gone. Again.

Dean never did find out what he was going to say.

* * *

 ***gasp* _whaaaaaatt_? Sorry for the cliffhanger, teehee, there's more to come. Also, pay attention to the use of the name Cas versus Castiel (it makes sense later, trust me)**

 **Also, sorry about the Doctor Who reference (even though I've personally never seen the show, I know/believe there was a scene with the doctor when he was saying something to Rose or someone and he was cut off before he got to say it. Idk though, I've never seen the show so I could be totally wrong). I can't seem to keep myself from making a bunch of references. . .**

 **Let me know what you think d:**


	3. Remember Me

**Let's get right to it :)**

 ** _RECAP:_**

 _He turned. Cas was still standing there, looking down at his feet. That was when Dean realized that he normally wasn't able to see right through Cas. If he looked through his peripheral, Cas looked solid. But head-on, Dean could still see his own reflection in the mirror through Cas' chest._

 _Cas flickered along with the light fixtures in the bathroom. "Dean, I-" He looked up, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, and then he was gone. Again._

 _Dean never did find out what he was going to say._

* * *

CHAPTER 3: Remember Me

"Are you sure it was him?"

"Of course, Sam," Dean rolled his eyes, taking another swig of beer. He winced as the movement tugged painfully on his mending ribs. It had been a few weeks ago, but they still ached fully. Sam shot him a look, but Dean waved him off. I'm fine.

"But he doesn't have a soul. It doesn't make any sense."

Dean rolled his eyes. So what if it didn't make sense? With their lives, things making sense was a rarity. "I know what I saw, Sam."

That was the first time it happened. They didn't speak of it again.

* * *

Cas almost allowed himself to freeze when he first heard it. A whisper, an inkling of a thought that wasn't his own voicing itself in the back of his mind.

 _Don't be dead._

Cas ducked as the demon slashed at him. He heard the swish of claws through the air and he kicked out, knocking the demon's feet out from under him. It snarled, landing flat on its back.

 _C'mon, Cas. Come back. I know you're here. I can feel you. I don't know how, but just. . . please-_

The prayer tapered off. Cas killed the monster.

* * *

Dean couldn't scrub the blood out.

He'd already stitched up the hole that the angel blade had rendered in the fabric as best he could. But the stain wouldn't come out.

Cas would have been able to fix it in the blink of an eye.

But Dean did his best. That was what mattered, and the trench coat, after years of use, could finally be put to rest.

He folded it, putting it on the table before reaching for the angel blade. The celestial metal glinted, even in the dark, seeming to glow from some unseen inner power. Dean balanced it in his hands, appreciating the smooth metal as he glanced over it again, looking for any blood that had evaded his sight the first time around.

It had saved its owner's life countless times. It had also been the thing to end it.

Dean couldn't look at it anymore. All he saw was the grip being held by Lucifer, and the tip being plunged through Cas' heart. He put it with the trench coat, grabbing his bottle of beer so he could distract himself. He ran his finger along the neck of the bottle, leaving a trail in the cold condensation.

He wouldn't feel right using it. Even though it looked just like any of the other angel blades they owned- Dean could feel it.

He abruptly stood, forgetting his beer on the table. He reached for Cas' things, hesitating for a moment before finally making up his mind. He went o

He put Cas' sole belongings on his grave. A little memorial, a small shrine, a too-small testament to the angel that fell for them too many times to count.

Sam was right. That wasn't Cas. It was Dean's head. Cas was dead, he didn't have a soul. He was nothing now. Just a memory and an imprint left behind on the two people he loved most.

* * *

The lights flickered again. Sam whipped around as the door creaked, glancing around the room as he brandished the iron fire poker at every leaping shadow.

Cas appeared near the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe with an impatient look on his face.

Sam's eyes widened as they fell on Cas. Dean was right.

Cas suddenly straightened, pushing away from the doorframe.

"Sam?"

Sam realized he was still holding the stick of iron. He warily lowered it, but he didn't drop it, because whatever this thing was, it wasn't Cas. Cas was dead, and he didn't have a soul.

"Sam, can you- can you see me?" Cas stepped closer, eyes shimmering, but Sam flinched back.

Cas stopped moving, spreading his arms to gesture at himself. "It's me."

"No. No. Cas is dead. I don't know what you are."

"No, I'm not-" Cas rolled his eyes impatiently, "I've been trying to get ahold of you-"

Sam shook his head, still watching Cas as if expecting him to turn against him. "I saw your body, Cas," Sam's voice broke, "I buried you. You're dead."

Cas rolled his eyes, huffing in exasperation. He took the last step forward and grabbed the iron poker before Sam had the chance to react.

Tried to.

His hand passed straight through it.

Sam jumped back. Cas didn't flinch- the iron hadn't hurt him somehow.

"See?" He held up his hand, clenching and unclenching it into a fist to prove that it still worked.

Sam finally dropped the poker, sending it clattering to the ground.

"Cas?"

"What- how-"

"I can't hold this form for much longer. I'm still learning how to do this. Just liste-"

Cas flickered and disappeared, leaving Sam staring at empty air.

Dean came back from his supply run half an hour later. Sam didn't try explaining why he was walking around the house with an EMF detector, muttering some lame cover up story.

That was the second time. It took two days before Sam finally mustered up the courage to tell Dean.

* * *

Dean liked scars. Not in the self-harming sense, not in the way that he liked seeing himself injured (although it was much preferred to seeing Sam hurt): no, he liked scars for the stories they told. They held as much meaning as any tattoo. They had history.

The long scar on his shoulder, snaking from front to back, from that hunting trip gone bad when he was twenty something and still working with his dad. A werewolf got its mitts on him. Dean just remembered the aftermath, his dad's fussing at his blood loss, one of the few times he actually acted like a normal dad- or as normal as a Winchester could be.

Then there was the small little dot on his shin, smaller than a grape, from when he and Sam were in their teens practicing with BB guns. They were supposed to be using the store targets. Sam claimed it was an accident, but Dean suspected it was retaliation for prancing him with that toad.

Dean got him back for it, though.

There was the scar hidden in his hairline from when that staggering drunk smashed a bottle upside his head- that was his first bar fight. 4 on 1, although the fight had favored him from the very start.

Scars, so many scars- some had been healed over the years along with the newer wounds Dean acquired. That always made him a little sad, as if he was losing part of himself. His identity. Ridiculous, maybe, but true.

Then there was this.

Cas had left a scar on him before. That handprint burned on his bicep- that one didn't last very long, though. Cas had healed it.

But the newest scar-

He'd been standing closer to Cas when he was killed.

Close enough for Cas' wings to burn him.

It wasn't very big, maybe the size of two fingers. To anyone else, it would look like a blob, an angry red patch.

But Dean knew. He could make out the shape of feathers. Patchy, worn out feathers, but feathers all the same.

Cas left his mark on them. Not just in their hearts.

* * *

Dean lit the last candle, putting it on the pentagram painted on the floor. He took a breath, sitting cross-legged, nervously rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans.

He knew the words by heart. He could recite them backwards.

" _Amate spiritus obscure, te quaerimus, te oramus, nobiscum colloquere, aput nos circita_."

He looked around the room, almost expecting someone to step out of the shadows. There was no one. The candles flickered in front of him, eerily casting his own profile on the wall. Wisps of smoke wafted up.

"Cas?"

Silence.

"Castiel, show yourself."

Nothing.

Dean suspiciously eyed the trench coat folded neatly in the middle of the pentagram. If there was anything that Cas' soul- or whatever part of him still lingered- was connected to, it was the coat. Dean was sure of it.

So why hadn't Cas shown himself? How-

"Dean?" A voice carried itself down the hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps. Dean blew out the candles in a hurried frenzy before scrambling up. He didn't have time to hide the rest of the evidence- the trench coat still lay on the floor in the middle of the pentagram.

The door creaked open, revealing Sam. His confusion quickly resolved into realization.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Sam?"

"You-" Sam stammered, staring at the items set up suspiciously like a seance. "Dean."

Dean ignored him.

"Cas is dead. He isn't coming back."

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean crossed his arms, moving to stand between Sam and the pentagram, "And whose fault is that?"

Sam took a step back, but he didn't let his surprise overwhelm his indignation.

"Dean, you can't-"

"If you hadn't held me back in Apocalypse world, I could've," Dean faltered, unsure himself of what he would've been able to accomplish. He let his arms fall back to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Dean," Sam began again, much softer. "Cas was a friend to me too."

"No, Sam. Cas is a brother," Dean's voice broke, but he continued, "And you've already given up on him."

Sam sighed, shaking his head.

"I saw him too, you know."

Dean didn't respond, only turned to look at the candles.

"If we're gonna do this," he put a hand on Dean's shoulder, "we're gonna do it together."

* * *

 **As always, reviews are greatly appreciated**


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